


Words to Live and Die By

by Willow_bird



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Canon-Typical Violence, Consent is Sexy, Eventual Smut, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Rape/Non-con, Writer!Andrew AU, this is my first fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird
Summary: Neil Josten has been running for years. For the past few, though, things have been quiet - too quiet. When Neil's forced to hit the ground running, yet again, he knows that his time is finally running out. Once he leaves the US this last time, there will be no turning back, there will be no hope for obscurity. Instead of heading right for the coast like he knows that he should, Neil makes a side stop in Denver, Colorado. Or rather - in *Littleton*, Colorado. Reaching out to an old friend is at best a way to say goodbye to the last shreds of his identity before he races toward either the death of his body or his soul, and at worst an indulgence he really can't afford. Still, he tells himself he'll stay for only as long as it takes for his contacts in Denver to get him what he needs to leave the country, maybe a little longer to lay low. Just a few weeks, at most, and then he's gone.That is, of course, unless someone can give him a reason to *stay*.(Wherein Renee and Neil are old pals and Andrew is a grumpy author with a very fat cat. This is self-indulgent found family crack, filled with consent and love and also prolly a lot of violence?)
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Andrew Minyard & Renee Walker, Neil Josten & Renee Walker, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 18
Kudos: 83





	1. Runner

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first AFtG Fic, and really my first fic in a LONG time. So, please bear with me as I get back into the swing of things. I'll be putting any relevant tags and warning in the notes before each chapter. I THINK this one is going to end up soft-ish? Idk, we'll see how it goes. Probably going to be a lot of violence though. Just fair warning. In this world there is no Exy but most of the characters' backstories stay relatively the same with the exception of Kevin because, well, his WORLD is/was Exy. You'll see. He's still the same Kevin though. I'm going to do my best to keep characters as close to their base as possible but some things WILL change, partially because all of the characters are significantly older. Neil is about 27, Andrew 28, etc.
> 
> If you have any questions, comments, concerns, please feel free to poke me! I'm around. ^.^

The only constant in Neil’s life was the hard slap of pavement under the worn soles of his sneakers. Whether he was running to clear his head or running for his life, in arid heat or frigid cold or the battering of a storm, the feel of his feet pushing him meter by meter away from his pre-dug grave was more natural to him than breathing. His heartbeat was scraped together from the soundtrack of his getaway, and that was fine. It was all fine. As long as he could keep moving.

Detroit wasn’t that much different from Chicago, or New York, or Amsterdam, or London. People moved around in violent solitude, focused on their own set paths and disdaining anyone who crossed their way. This was why Neil stuck to cities even though the press of bodies made him feel claustrophobic and trapped, the filth in the air sticking in his lungs like poisoned taffy too distantly polite to just admit to being tar. With so many people all determinedly pointing in their own direction, bustling and rushing and shouting and _living_ , it was easy to miss the dead man scurrying between the vacant spaces left in their wake. 

It was also far easier to spot those who looked a little bit too closely, paid a little bit too much attention.

His mother had shot him up with paranoia like it was a vaccine, and that was the only reason he had as many near misses as he did (rather than him having ended up dead long before now). So when Neil walked into the drug store that night to pick up some necessities and he noticed the long glance from the man just outside the door, oh so unobtrusively scrolling through his phone like he was waiting for someone, he kept his steps even but his attention heightened. That was why he was able to catch the way the woman in the brown coat checked her phone at the same time the man by the door turned to follow him inside. He also caught the shift of her free hand to the small of her back.

If paranoia was the vaccine to help him fight off death, he’d swear by it every time. 

Neil didn’t wait for movements to be completed, didn’t wait to be sure, didn’t take a second look. He pivoted and sprinted, shouldering past the man who’d followed him in while keeping his body low to avoid the arms that shot out to grab him. He skidded on the sidewalk and turned sharply, taking off down the street like a rogue bullet. 

His feet hit the pavement in rapid, practiced strikes, carrying him away from danger and back toward the shelter of obscurity as quickly as he could manage. It was too much of a risk to head back to the abandoned building he was squatting in, but he’d just have to take the hit of losing what supplies he’d stashed there. What he _really_ needed he always kept with him. He went nowhere without his backpack, the sturdy blue bag that had replaced his tattered duffle two years ago. It held a little bit less, but Neil wasn’t terribly sentimental by necessity and he knew how to reduce his entire life into the barest of necessities. Three shirts, one pair of pants, three pairs of underwear, two pairs of socks. A single pair of sneakers. A gallon-sized ziploc bag that acted as an improvised med kit filled with gauze, bandages, small bottles of rubbing alcohol and cheap whiskey wrapped in washcloths, a travel sewing kit and dental floss. Flashlight, scissors, a military-grade hunting knife. A gun with one box of extra ammo. His binder.

A car shot roughly down the street to his left and Neil instinctively swerved down the closest alleyway. It was entirely possible that no one was chasing him, let alone that any pursuers would have been able to get a car on him this fast - but he’d long since learned not to take those chances. There was too fine a line between potentially-shitty-driver and potentially-trying-to-kill-you.

Neil didn’t chance a glance backward. He didn’t slow, he barely kept track of where he was going other than a general desperate dash toward _away._

He just ran. The pounding of his feet to the pavement was faster than the drumming of his heart but it was just as steady, just as constant. He ran, ducking from alley to alley and street to street until he hit a dead end, and there he only stopped long enough to leap up and hit the ladder on the emergency fire stairs to make it slide down. The hard _shk_ of metal against metal preambled a crash of metal on stone that made him cringe, but he didn’t let himself pause long enough to look around and see if any windows opened to investigate the noise. He scurried up the ladder until he reached the landing, then ran up the steps all the way to the roof. The buildings were close enough together and he had trained himself well enough to the task that he was able to leap across several until he reached one with a shed that was likely used for maintenance storage. Finally, a glance back and around told him that if anyone was following him he’d managed to get ahead far enough that they wouldn’t see him if he hid, though it was only once he’d picked the lock and thrust himself inside, the door shut and locked behind him, did he let himself hunch over and gasp for breath. 

Slowly, his body trembling from the fright and the sudden exertion, he lowered himself down and sat with his back to the wall, huddled in the corner shadows where he could easily see the door but he wouldn’t be seen immediately if someone were to come in. He slung off his backpack and opened it, pulling out his gun and holding it loosely, the safety still on, his arm slung across his knees as he continued to catch his breath. 

It took another few minutes before he was completely calm, and an hour before he let himself relax enough to put the gun down. Setting it on the floor just within reach, he crossed his legs and pulled his binder from his backpack, opening it in his lap.

Back when his mother was alive, she’d hated that he kept it and had tried to convince him more than once to get rid of it. To burn some of its contents and distribute and hide the rest in a better way - but Neil needed the binder as it was. It was the only way he felt like he had any sort of control over the situation, even if that control was illusionary at best. 

Of course, Neil’s mother had died almost ten years ago and somehow Neil was still alive and still running - binder and all. So maybe that control wasn’t all self-delusion. 

Or maybe he was just lucky. 

Neil opened the binder and obsessively looked through it, his ritual muscle memory by this point of checking each page and peaking into each plastic sleeve to make sure he extra contents were still snugly in place. Only once he’d physically touched each and every part of the binder and its contents, he flipped to the back and pulled one of the maps free that was tucked into the back pocket, unfolding it across his lap before he reached back into his backpack to grab a red marker. 

The map was of the US, denoting all major cities - some of them marked with different colored markers. A red x through Chicago, a blue circle around San Francisco, a green cross and a red x both through St. Louis. Detroit became another red x before he capped the marker and tucked it away, pulling out his last granola bar as he withdrew his hand. He ate it slowly as he studied the cities on the map, deciding where to go from here. 

It was time to leave the Midwest, that was for damn sure - but he was running out of fresh cities to go to in the US. Until he made contact with someone who could get him a new ID though, there was little chance of him getting out of the country after what had happened in Milwaukee. He could probably get into Canada without one, but he had no contacts in Canada and would then be stuck there. He didn’t like being stuck anywhere. 

His fingers beat a light rhythm over the paper as he considered returning to one of the cities he’d never been caught in - places he’d left before his luck ran out. San Francisco, Denver, Anchorage (not that he could really count that as a _major_ city compared to the ones he usually ducked into). San Fran would be busy, and it’d be easier for him to leave the country from there - which wasn’t a bad idea once he got himself another identity. The US seemed to have worn out its welcome for him after this year. Right when he’d dared to hope that they’d given up on him as dead or not worth the resources, a sudden resurgence of the target on his back had chased him through four consecutive cities - with no more than a few months in each. Detroit had been his shortest stay to date. He hadn’t even been here a fucking week. 

It would really be best to head to the coast.

But…

Neil’s fingers tapped over the blue circle that surrounded Denver, then traced over the small afterthought of a green cross right beside it that marked Littleton. He could get what he needed in Denver, too. He didn’t have to stay for too long… but he knew that if he left the US he probably wasn’t going to come back. If he left the US, he’d have to go to Europe and it was just as hostile there as it was here and eventually he’d have no choice but to make his way back to London. There was every chance that the Hatfords would kill him when he got there, but it was looking like his only choice left was to take that chance. 

Is it really a choice if it was the only option? And if it was his only option, then why the hell not give himself a few weeks of something else - something other than running to live, living to run, and always looking over his shoulder. Something just a little bit… _more?_

His mother wouldn’t approve. She’d beat the shit out of him if she knew what he was thinking of doing. Hell, she’d beat the shit out of him then make him patch himself up sans the whiskey just for the existence of those little green crosses scattered sparsely across his maps. Really, she’d beat the shit out of him for having maps. There was a theme here that Neil didn’t want to dwell on.

Still, Neil’s mom was dead and he’d survived ten years without her in spite of that - be it because of sheer dumb luck or otherwise. 

Neil finished the granola bar and shoved the wrapper into the front pouch on the backpack, then carefully folded the map and returned it to its pocket before replacing the binder into his bag. He’d stay here tonight. The shed would keep him warm enough from the worst of the chill and he’d splurged a bit when he’d gotten the coat he was wearing now - and it had a special insulation layer. He had to shift around a little bit in his corner, using the backpack as a pillow with his gun right near his hand as he curled up to try and get some sleep. Tonight, he’d rest as best he could.

Tomorrow, he’d be on his way to Denver.


	2. She Keeps Her Rainbows in Her Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil arrives in Littleton, Colorado, where he reunites with Renee and meets her partner Allison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Lookit that, I actually ended up updating this thingy! Go me! Please note that I have never been to Littleton, Colorado. I barely researched it. All I know is that it's approximately the right size for what I was going for and that it's a suburb of Denver. There are no particular warnings for this chapter.

The train from Detroit to Denver was only a hundred and thirty-six dollars but the ride itself was over twenty-six hours. Neil didn’t like being stuck in a metal box for that long, no matter that it was far less traceable than if he were to attempt to take a plane - and Neil tried not to steal cars unless there were no other option. Those were traceable too, no matter how careful you were and how clever in who you stole from. People _looked_ for stolen cars, and Neil couldn’t afford to have anyone else looking for him when it was clear fifteen years and a lot of blood still wasn’t enough for him to shake his current pursuers.

More than once on the long ride he almost got off the train and changed his plan. They’d caught up to him so quickly in Detroit, and if that happened in Denver too his chances of slipping through their fingers again were only going to get slimmer. Not to mention the collateral damage…

In the end, though, Neil ended up stepping off the platform in Denver, Colorado less than two days after being cornered in Detroit. His instincts told him that he had moved fast enough, silently enough, unexpectedly enough that he’d lost his tail - but his ingrained paranoia had him paying cash for a cheap motel room instead of heading directly to his first destination now that he’d made it into the city.

Once he was secure (door locked, chair wedged under the handle, curtains drawn and safety-pinned shut), the first thing he did was retreat into the bathroom with the box of hair dye that he’d picked up at the corner store just off of the train station on his way to the motel. He’d lightened his hair to an ash brown just before leaving Detroit, brown contacts to cover the blue, all of which he further obscured under a tattered gray baseball cap.

He would keep the brown eyes (he was down to only brown and a darker gray left and he’d had gray eyes in Detroit before he left) and darkened his hair to a dull black in the bathroom sink, using the time as the color set to catch up on the news and look up a few phone numbers. His fingers traced over each page, each worn plastic sleeve, each hidden bit of truth stowed away in his binder. It was a road map of his fears, in a way, and tracing back the trails probably shouldn’t calm him but it did. As much as it was a reminder of all the horror and the pain and the gun pointed right at his head, _the knife to his jugular_ , it was also proof that he was still alive, still running.

But for how much longer..?

Neil pushed away the question and shut the binder. Once it was safely stowed away he returned to the bathroom to rinse the dye from his hair, carefully checking to be sure he hadn’t missed any spots and that he hadn’t gotten dye anywhere it shouldn’t be. Satisfied, he crossed back to the bed and sat down, pulling over the phone from the side table so that he could make his phone calls. The first two were standard, steps in securing what he’d need to leave the country. The third…

His thumb hesitated over each number as he punched it in from memory. Once he made this call there was no changing his mind, because the person he was calling wasn’t the kind to just back off if he suddenly disappeared after calling in a favor. Not even if she was wise enough to know he’d likely vanished to protect her.

_“Don’t be so fucking stupid! How many times have I told you?! HOW MANY!? NO personal connections! NO friends! None of that worthless shite! Do you WANT to die, Abram? You’re only going to get yourself killed. Those filthy snakes will betray you, sell you out, use you, dammit!” Pain in his scalp from the pull of his hair, stinging in his cheek from the slap, an ache in his shoulder from the rough slam of it against the concrete._

Neil closed his eyes and shook his head, ignoring the way his hands trembled around the phone as he finished punching in the number and lifted it to his ear. His mom was dead, and he was alive. His mom had trusted no one, and for a long time so had he - but you don’t survive ten years running solo from the people he was running from without learning to take risks and trust your instincts.

“Hello?” The voice was the same as the last time, warm and soft but with the ability to carry through a room to exactly whomever she meant to hear it.

“Renee? I need to call in that favor.”

There was only the barest pause that belied her surprise, and when she spoke her tone remained warm except for the near-imperceptible wash of cool relief he only knew was there because of the pain they’d survived together.

“Of course,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice where it was sheltering that relief. 

“Can I expect you soon?”

“I’m already close.”

A soft chuckle and there was another tremble of… something that he couldn’t quite place. “I’ll have Ally swing by the supermarket on the way home to pick up some more fruit.”

Something in his chest tightened painfully, suddenly and sharply enough that he pulled the phone away so she wouldn’t hear him gasp - his free hand reflexively curling into a fist against his breastbone. His voice was steady when he returned. “I’m fine. But thanks. I won’t be here long.”

“All the more reason, then.” There was a heavy pause, but she didn’t say whatever else was lingering between her breaths - she knew this wasn’t the time or place for bigger questions or potentially sensitive topics.

“I’ll see you soon, Renee.” He hung up before she had a chance to say anything else and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes in an effort to calm their shaking. Two slow breaths, three, four. It had been five years since he’d last seen Renee, but he’d known her his entire life. She was his best-kept secret and he only called on her when he had absolutely no other choice because she was also his biggest weakness. Renee wasn’t just a contact, she was his _friend_. Emotional connections like that were a double-edged sort of dangerous when two of the most influential crime syndicates wanted you dead. He limited his contact with her to keep her safe as much as for her own sake as for his. He didn’t think she’d ever betray him. She was the _only_ person he was confident would never betray him - but he also knew that if anyone tried to use her against him he’d turn right around and do anything to keep her safe.

Less than two days separated from the last time he’d been tracked down was not a smart time to flash that weakness to the open air, but his mother was right and he was a sentimental fool. He had to see her one last time.

****

Littleton, Colorado was exactly how he remembered it. He'd only been there twice, but he still had every street and corner burned into his memory like a brand. For eight years, Littleton had been his secret lighthouse, a guilty pleasure of hope that he kept hidden far beneath the scars, sheltered from the nightmares. He revisited it in his mind when things got too much to handle, when he started thinking that running wasn't worth it anymore and it would be better to just get the inevitable over and done with. Neil had been running for a long time, so he knew better than most that it wasn't something that could actually go on forever - not when every time there seemed to be a stretch of quiet it would be shattered by the rustle of a lock or the quiet crack of a gun behind its suppressor.

He kept Littleton in the corner of his heart, sheltered from reality. It was his own private little pipe dream.

Now, as he got off the bus near the library, he felt that pang of traitorous hope and relief bubbling up from what was usually the darkest spot behind his ribcage and he knew it was his own damn fault. He let himself feel it, knowing how badly it would hurt later, because that was a problem for Future Neil. Present Neil at least peripherally understood that he was here to indulge himself before the end, so he might as well let it happen. 

It was a two-hour walk from the library to the house, and he savored it. The town was a wash of golds, reds, and oranges of all different shapes thanks to the variety of trees that lined each street. There wasn't a single house he passed that didn't have at least one standing guard, and even the apartment buildings kept their own as sentinels, like the earth itself had put her protection around the town. Most buildings had front porches, and almost every one of those - even the businesses - also boasted pumpkins or other gourds of various decal for the season. There were autumn wreaths on doors and other, more commercial decorations that smattered across this lawn and another. 

Neil drank up all the color like he was starved for it. He bottled it up inside him until his chest hurt from the hoarding, but he held onto it anyway. Objectively, he knew that Littleton wasn't really that much different from any other suburban town he'd crossed through - not even from ones that he'd lived in from time to time - but for some reason, it all felt more _real_ here. It was... terrifyingly obtainable because in the secret corner of his heart he'd made it that way. 

It was a pipe dream made all the more devastating because it felt so _real_.

The more uniformed houses, schools, and businesses fell away as he turned onto the uphill street that lead to the small overlook mostly obscured by more trees. Along the way were a few more homes, spaced out onto more land per property and each with an older, more individual design. Most of the homes sat further back on their properties so that their private armies of trees and foilage blocked them from any prying eyes, leaving each in blissful seclusion. Near the top of the hill, Neil turned down one of the drives, though he paused once the house itself came in sight. 

He didn't keep a picture of the house with him, not even in his binder. Somehow, that was too big of a risk in his mind - his ache to protect this dream so fierce that he only ever kept its details committed to his memory. The two-story home wasn't overly grand, but it had a history to it that made it seem bigger than it was. There were shutters on the windows, and though Neil remembered them as being white they were a dark green now, which balanced against the pale gray of the house nicely. The porch wound around the entirety of the house, and he could see a porch swing right beside the front door that hadn't been there before. The pillows on it were cheerful and matched the season. The porch steps each had their own little guardians, two pumpkins and a different gourd - each with such an extremely different style and theme of carving that he knew they had to have been done by different people. 

Neil stood there for maybe a minute, maybe an hour, before he shifted his backpack on his shoulder and moved forward. Two cars in the driveway meant that either both Renee and her partner were home or that one of them was and they had a visitor. He sincerely hoped it was the former. While he had never met Allison Reynolds, he could at least trust her through Renee. Hopefully, since Renee knew he was coming she would not have had anyone over today before he could get himself settled and they could decide on an excuse for his presence. 

The jack-o-lanterns peered up at him as he climbed the steps: cheery smile, stoic cat silhouette, gruesome monster, but he paid them less mind than he did the small cameras he knew were discreetly hidden near the front door, at the corner of the porch, and just above the steps aimed down the drive. They were still there, but he wouldn't know until he took a look at the security room whether or not Renee was utilizing them properly along with the rest of the security system that he'd made sure the house was equipped with when he'd made the purchase eight years ago and then updated when he'd given it to Renee three years later. 

The doorbell was the same low gong and it sent a shiver of home down his spine that he tried not to dwell on. He counted the sounds of each lock as they released, satisfied that they were all being used. The door opened and the woman that was revealed greeted him with tears in her eyes. 

"Neil."

"Renee."

She looked exactly the same, and he realized he was surprised about that as she opened the door wider to beckon him inside. A few inches taller than him with near-white hair that faded into a pastel rainbow at the ends, a style she must be dedicated to if she still had it five years later. The silver cross was visible around her throat and she wore blue drops in her ears - only at the lobes though he knew she had both ears pierced several more times over. Her dress was colorful and looked comfortable, and the white knit shawl around her shoulders looked handmade. She was a snapshot from another time, somehow fitting into a world neither of them should have ever been able to get near - yet she made it look easy. 

Neil stepped into the house, and Renee shut and locked the door before she turned to him to take him in fully. He wasn't surprised when she opened her arms to him. "Can I give you a hug?"

That tightness in his chest squirmed again, clenching and clawing at a tender cavity in his sternum. He slung off his backpack and leaned it against his leg before he nodded, and though he knew she must have heard the shudder in his breath when her arms went around him in the next moment he trusted her not to comment on it. Just like she wouldn't comment on how his arms wrapped around her in return and he _clung_ for far longer than just a moment. He buried his face against her neck and breathed deeply, taking in the mix of cinnamon and vanilla and earth that was uniquely Renee. Her fingers brushed over his hair, gently stroking through it as she held him close. 

"Getting fresh with my woman are you now, buddy?" The voice was teasing and light but Neil reacted as if he'd been shot, jerking hard away from Renee almost to the point where he stumbled. All emotions locked away deep inside his rabbit heart as he scooped up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder while Renee turned to the tall blonde woman leaning in the doorway to the kitchen.  
"Ally, be nice," Renee chastised lightly without any heat. "It's been a long time, that's all."

Neil took the opportunity to look over the woman whom Renee had chosen. She was dressed in a tight-fitting tank top and athletic pants, a pair of sneakers in one hand like she was about to put them on. Her long hair was tied up in a high ponytail, pulled back tightly from her face. He didn't miss the sharpness in her eyes that spoke of intelligence and likely an aptitude for observation. He doubted that Ms. Allison Reynolds missed much. 

"I _was_ being nice, babe. I could have easily focused first on how he looks like he robbed a homeless man and clearly has an abject fear of scissors considering the state of that mop on his head."

Neil blinked. "Uh.."

Renee sighed, and he really didn't understand how a single breath could hold so much affection, but there it was. "Maybe you can convince him to let you cut his hair and update his wardrobe a little bit while he's here." Wait, what? "For now, how about something to snack on? Dinner is almost done, but I doubt he's had more than a granola bar all day."

Before he had a chance to fully process what exactly what happening, he was being ushered through the foyer and into the bright kitchen. It was still filled with late-afternoon light, the warm glow soaked up by the pale yellow of the walls through the western-facing windows and the door that lead out into the back yard. 

"He's pretty cute under there, I'll give you that. It won't be hard to spruce him up. Maybe this weekend we can head into town and stop at the mall. I'll cut his hair in the morning so I can get the full effect while I pick out his style." Allison was chatting as she moved to the fridge, pulling out a shallow plastic container filled with sliced fruit, which she portioned into a bowl and brought over to the table Renee had too-easily navigated him to. 

"You really don't have to do--" Neil tried to say, but Allison waved him off, pressing a fork into his hand before narrowing her eyes at him.

"Eat. Leave the rest to me. You clearly have no idea what you're doing and I clearly do."

He really couldn't argue with that, but he was still confused. Renee did a poor job smothering her smile at the look he gave her. 

"Don't worry, Neil, Allison really does know what she's doing. You _do_ need a haircut, and what's the harm in some new clothes while we're at it?"

"I don't need anything. What I have is fine." He looked down at himself in confusion. Somewhere between the door and the kitchen, Renee had coaxed him out of his coat and he honestly couldn't say when or how exactly it had happened. "And I won't be in town that long, anyway. I only need a couch to crash on while I take care of some business up in the city - that's all." That was true enough, though both he and Renee knew that he easily could have stayed at a motel or something while he took care of his 'business'. They both knew that he'd come to Littleton for reasons much harder to define and much closer to home.

"Neil." The gentle weight in Renee's tone spoke directly to those ineffable reasons. He met her eyes, and he knew that she _knew_. She knew, just as well as he did, that this was his last chance here. This was his last stop. That when he left, she would never hear of him again and he would just be racing to the end of his line, likely hoping to take down as many of his dangers as possible with him on the way down. 

He couldn't hold her gaze, knowing he could see the shadow of his end reflected in them - knowing how she felt about that. 

A sigh left his lips and he began picking at the fruit before him in silent acquiescence. 

"Well don't look so put out about it," Allison said as she took a seat at the table with them. "I promise, you'll be in good hands." She leaned over to reach out and ruffle his hair, and he leaned away from the touch instinctively but Allison didn't seem offended. Instead, she raised a brow at Renee. "Another one, huh?"

Neil blinked and followed her gaze to Renee, who chuckled and shrugged, then smiled at Neil's questioning expression. "Another of our friends --"

"The monster is _your_ friend, thank you. We barely tolerate each other."

Renee waved the words off to continue. "Another of our friends has a similarly concrete personal bubble, shall we say. We have lunch with him once a week usually, aside from when he and I get together - so you'll probably meet him while you're here."

"Right." Neil didn't really want to meet any of Renee's friends. He particularly didn't feel encouraged to meet someone that her partner referred to as 'the monster', but it was quickly becoming clear that this visit wasn't going to be going the way he'd planned it and the terms of his stay were no longer entirely within his hands. 

Renee just smiled at him, and if there was some kind of glimmer in her eyes that hinted at something _else_ he had no idea what it was and definitely didn't want to know so he didn't ask. Instead, he returned to his fruit and ignored the weird air of triumph around his friend. 

While Neil would have been happy to leave all conversation there, Allison clearly had other ideas. She let the silence sit for a moment as she watched him (it was getting a little unnerving really) before she leaned forward again, though this time it was only to prop her hand on her fist. 

"So how do you know Renee? All she would tell me was that you two were old friends. I thought I'd met all of Renee's church buddies."

"Ah. I'm not really..." He fumbled, gesturing to Renee's necklace. 

"We grew up together," Renee supplied, and Neil nodded in agreement. It was the simplest description possible for their connection, but it worked - generic enough that they might have been neighbors as kids or have attended the same grade school or something. 

Allison, apparently, was more astute than that.

"So you were involved with the gangs, then?"

Neil almost choked on a strawberry. 

"I'll take that as a yes. Damn, that's bullshit you know? Kids having to get caught up in all of that." 

_You have no idea,_ Neil wanted to say, but he held it back and pushed a few pieces of fruit around in his bowl. Instead, he sighed and offered a small shrug. "It is. But that doesn't change anything. Renee and I..." he glanced over at her, then across at Allison "...we were able to get out." In a way. "A lot of kids don't. A lot of kids die before they get the chance, or they let themselves grow into the life instead of out of it." He shrugged again. "I've always admired Renee for how she managed to do a complete 180 on it all."

Renee raised an eyebrow at him and nudged him with her foot, but he ignored her. 

"Yeah, she's basically a saint," Allison agreed. Not to be distracted, her eyes flicked back to him, honing in like she'd picked up some kind of a trail and was eager to see what was bleeding out at the end. "What about you? You clearly didn't take the church route."

Neil managed not to fidget. He just met her stare with a vacant one of his own. "No, I didn't."

Allison waited a beat, but when it became clear that he wasn't going to elaborate she let out a gusty sigh and pushed away from the table. "Jesus Christ you're one of _those_ aren't you? Alright, fine. This isn't over, though." Joy. Allison smirked at him, like she could read the sarcastic thought through his neutral expression just fine, even without him verbalizing. She didn't push him any further at the moment, though. Instead, she rounded the table and kissed Renee quickly before moving to head out of the kitchen, scooping her sneakers off the counter. "I'm off to the gym, but I should be back by dinner. Ciao ciao!" A minute later there was the sound of locks shifting then the front door opening and closing, followed by the locks being reengaged from the other side - all except for the two that could only be affected from the inside of the house. 

He and Renee sat in a peaceful silence as he finished off his fruit. Only once he'd finished and had already risen to take his bowl to the sink to wash did either of them speak. 

"Will you tell me why now?"

Neil didn't look over at her as he washed out the bowl and dried it. He waited to answer until after he'd put it back into the cabinet he recalled Allison retrieving it from, then turned and leaned back against the counter, considering his friend. She sat quietly, her expression neutral - but a darker neutral. It was the girl he'd grown up with, and the woman he'd fought beside, staring across from him. The one who'd learned knives with him side-by-side. The one who'd been there for his first kill.

They held each others' stare for a long moment before he gave a slow nod, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to force his shoulders to relax. "I can't run anymore. Things had been quiet for over a year, almost to the point where I thought it might finally be done - long as I kept my head down." He sighed and looked out the window, watching the breeze ruffle the long branches of the large willow tree in the back yard. 

"Then I started to feel like someone was watching me again. I couldn't take the chance, so I decided to leave where I was at. I headed to Detroit and they caught up with me there."

"Lola?" Her voice was steady but cold, so cold that Neil didn't need to look over at her to see the hate in her eyes. He knew it was there.

Neil shook his head. "No, no one I knew. But they clearly knew me - almost gunned me down in a drugstore before chasing me for a few miles through the city." He actually didn't know that for sure, but he trusted his paranoia like gospel at this point. It was the only reason he was alive. 

He sighed heavily and turned to look at her, letting her see the exhaustion in his soul. "I can't do this anymore, Renee. Once I have what I need from my sources in Denver, I'm heading back to Europe. I thought about hiding in France for a while but..." he shook his head. "I'm ready for this to be over. I'll go to London. We'll see what happens from there."

There was tension in every line of Renee's body, though he doubted anyone other than himself would know it for what it was. She looked calm enough, but he knew the way her fingers curled slightly against the top of the table - he knew that particular set in her shoulders. 

"There's a chance they won't kill you once you hit London. You did a lot for the Hatfords when you first broke away, and even without that - you're family. That's always meant something to them."  
"It's always meant something to _Uncle Stuart_ ," Neil corrected with a sigh. "But Uncle Stuart was never the one at the head of the family - and I'm the reason he's dead. I doubt they're going to be so forgiving."

Renee just nodded. She didn't try to argue that it had been five years. She'd met the Hatfords. She remembered what they were like. Five years or five hundred, grudges were stone-laid creeds to his mother's family. 

"I'm not just going to walk up and beg for the bullet," he said quietly after a moment. Renee's gaze had drifted off in her own thoughts, but it snapped back to him at the admission. She didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue - knowing he wouldn't have said anything at all if he weren't going to elaborate. 

"I have a... plan. Not a great one, I'll admit it. It's sketchy at best, but I've been putting it together bit by bit over the years." His own gaze strayed to the backpack under the chair he'd been sitting in at the table, then flicked back up to meet Renee's. "I think I can bring the Moriyama's down with me. It might be enough for the Hatfords to spare me, since it'll give them new territory and give them first shot for the top of all this bullshit." Or, it might be just enough to win him a quick death rather than the full Hatford Execution Experience. 

_If_ either side didn't manage to kill him before he managed to get all his pieces in place. That was a big 'if'.

"Anything you need, Neil, you know I'll do it."

Neil was already shaking his head. "No."

Renee frowned. "You said you were calling in a favor."

"That's not the favor I need from you."

"Then what?"

Neil was silent for a long moment. "Just... a place to stay. Just this. A couple weeks here. Then our debt is paid."

The air in the kitchen was weighted down with heavy understanding. Neil couldn't look at Renee, not knowing that she understood what this was - that all he wanted, his dying wish, was for a few weeks where he could pretend he had a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, if you're confused on the tone of this whole thing you aren't wrong. It's.. yeah. It's going to do that. One second it's gonna be all super serious and plotty and the next it's going to be lighter. There are going to be downright fluffy moments, then there's gonna be a lot of darker stuff too. Pls don't hate me. Uhm. Next up: an ANDREW POV chapter! Whee!


	3. Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew Minyard is a writer. He's also a cynic. He's also very skeptical of this 'friend' that Renee has invited to lunch and is allowing to stay in her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! It's been a minute, hasn't it? I got, like, obsessed with my other stuff and so left this chapter half-written for about a month. It's still going to be a lot slower going with this one, but I'm still working on it! I hope you enjoy!!

Daylight was a bitter bastard, unconcerned with how anyone else might feel when it could drop-kick a morning past your curtains for little more than _spite_. Andrew woke up with a scowl, which was an improvement on the grimace he’d fallen into bed with the night before if only because on his personal scale of limited emotional expression ‘anger’ ranked higher than ‘resignation’. It only took him a moment to decide that he was genuinely angry, too, rather than just irritated. Irritation didn’t count as an emotional waystone, as it was his constant state, and the sharp, too-sober slap of sunshine on his unprotected face deserved some unmitigated ire for the affront.

“Fuck off.” The words came out as little more than a raspy growl, his mouth dry and stuffed with dead cotton and stale cigarettes. The taste was foul, too, but Andrew still rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow rather than attempt to rouse himself. His head pounded and he was resentful enough to punish himself with the added awareness of his own discomfort while he pretended to be able to get back to sleep.

There was never any ‘going back to sleep’. Despite the soft sheets, still smelling freshly washed from the laundry he’d done last night just before turning in, and the heavy weight of exhaustion in the back of his skull, Andrew had far too much experience to give in to wishful thinking.

Right on fucking cue, there was the soft rustle of a bell, followed by the feeling of the mattress dipping close to his face.

“No. Fuck you,” Andrew growled in protest, burying his head deeper and grabbing his second pillow as if to hide himself.

A light push against his shoulder, then against the pillow.

 _“Mreh.”_ The note was an awkward bark of a sound, less cat-like and more like if some fucked up alien creature saw an old Egyptian carving of a sideways cat person and tried to guess what it sounded like - then gave it a try in the middle of a sandstorm.

Andrew sighed. “I hate you.”

 _“Mreh.”_ The pillow started to shift and rustle, and somehow - despite Andrew being a fully grown fucking human being - it was the work of only minutes before his face was no longer blissfully alone between the pillows. No. There were whiskers up his fucking nose.

Not bothering to waste another expletive, Andrew just growled something unintelligible and tossed his useless barrier pillow aside before sitting up. He gave the furred tyrant a shove (and the _thing_ didn’t even fucking _budge_ ) and scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the overgrown stubble that scraped his palm for his effort. He’d have to shave today. There was no way he was putting up with Reynolds’s fucking tittering about him being “scruffy”, and if he skipped another lunch over there then Renee was going to get _concerned_ about him.

_“Mreh.”_

Andrew dropped his hand into his lap and gave the cat a dead look. King’s large amber eyes stared unblinkingly back at him for a full minute before the cat gave him a slow, knowing blink and turned, his overly-fluffed white tail flicking imperiously before he climbed down the pet steps and down to the floor, moving to the bedroom door instead where he scratched twice at the closed door before looking back over at him steadily.

Annoyance thrummed in time with his exhaustion in the rear echo-chambers of his skull. He did this to himself, but he was still going to blame Renee. He’d add another pint of ice cream to her tab.

_“Mreh.”_

Three more pints.

With one more sigh, Andrew slid off the bed and rolled his shoulders, then twisted to pop his back in a series of rumbling cracks. The sound itself was almost more satisfying than the slight loosening between his vertebrae. Mildly pleased, but still offended at the idea of being awake, Andrew crossed to the bedroom door, unlocked it, and nudged King aside with his foot enough to tug it open. The abominable beast lumbered ahead of him with a pomp and circumstance that had Andrew rolling his eyes, that fluffy white tail waving like a flag to lead their two-party parade from the bedroom to the kitchen.

With the mindlessness of routine, Andrew skirted around the overstuffed feline to the cabinet where the cat food was kept and portioned out a quarter cup scoop of dry food, wrestling the powderpuff behemoth aside with one foot long enough to deposit it into his bowl and grab the oversized mug that King had claimed instead of his _perfectly functional_ water dish so he could refill it with some fresh water. Once that was back in place, Andrew stepped back and just stared at the creature for a long moment.

“You disgust me,” he deadpanned, then turned to get the coffee started.

This was his life now, more or less. If he had any energy for it he might be astounded that he had somehow managed to make it this far. He’d honestly not expected to make it to twenty-three and here he was five years past his expiration date. Not a quiet five years, either. No, up until about six months ago he’d been burning those extra days up like they were made of lighter fluid and he was a living match - eager to combust what was left of his worthless life into a bonfire of bad decisions.

Now he lived in a two-bedroom apartment that had soft gray walls free of cracks, water stains, chipped paint, or blood spatter. He had a cat and a fucking book deal. He went to lunch with the local lesbians.

Maybe he _had_ died. No, maybe he was just nearing death and this was some kind of fucked-up fever dream. That was kind of more believable than this all being his actual reality right now.

The coffee maker chirped at him and Andrew brushed away his by-now-familiar rote of _‘ how the fuck is this actually my life’_ in favor of his daily dose. There would be plenty of time for brooding later, and he owed it to Renee and that twit to drag them along for the ride. Once his coffee was sufficiently doctored ( _Snickers_ creamer - because he was a fucking adult and could do what he fucking wanted, fuck you Kevin) he took it out to his small balcony for his morning cigarette.

The view was nothing particularly impressive, but the complex had tried. Instead of overlooking the parking lot and the street beyond, all the balconies and patios of the three buildings that made up Brakewater Crossing faced a central courtyard. It was little more than a lawn with a couple of trees and a blacktop-paved path that lead from each building to the others - but it wasn't traffic so at least there was that. Andrew sat on a towel he'd placed on an overturned plastic tub that had once held cat litter, and his ashtray sat on a similar garishly yellow tub in front of him. There was only one place to sit because he was the only one who needed to. Andrew did not tolerate company and even when the local lesbians bullied their way over he'd rather not give them the opportunity to mistake themselves welcome by there being more than one place to sit in any one room of his apartment. 

He'd told this to them once, and Reynolds had called him a petty little fuck. His response had been a bland: _Your point?_

Andrew finished his smoke and coffee before going back inside, feeling slightly more human for the added shots of caffeine, sugar, and nicotine to his system. There was still a dull throb at the back of his skull but it was nothing he couldn't ignore for now. By the time he'd showered and eaten a thrown-together breakfast of scrambled eggs and poptarts, it was almost gone entirely. 

He was just getting his gym bag together for a workout before he'd settle in to do a few hours of writing when his phone pinged. It was Renee.

**I have a friend staying with me for a little while. He'll be joining us for lunch.**

Andrew frowned. He didn't really want to meet any of Renee's do-gooder friends. The lunches were barely tolerable with that pest of hers constantly hanging around. 

_this u telling me to behave? wont work_

**I'm not worried about him. I just wanted to give you a heads up.**

Interesting - though not interesting enough to dwell on it. Renee thought her friend could handle him. Personally, Andrew doubted it, but he didn't care to waste any energy thinking about it. They'd find out at lunch. 

_whatever_

**See you later, Andrew. :)**

Andrew rolled his eyes but didn't bother responding again. His phone tucked away into his pocket and his gym bag over one shoulder, Andrew shoved his feet into his shoes and shot a glare at the cat on his way out the door. "If you throw up on anything while I'm gone, I'm going to have you stuffed and turned into a hood ornament." 

King only stared at him, then flicked his obnoxious tail and turned, heading off to do who-knows-what. Probably eat something he wasn't supposed to. Fucking cat.

Andrew watched him go and then left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

*****

By the time lunch rolled around, Andrew had almost forgotten about this supposed 'friend' that Renee was dragging along with them.

He'd put himself through a grueling workout at the gym, reinforcing the tethers between himself and his own body, and by the time he let himself leave he'd only had enough time to shower briefly to avoid being overly late. Not that he cared about being _on time_ or any shit like that. It would serve them right to have to wait on him. He just didn't feel like putting up with Reynolds's bitching. 

Sometimes, when he met up with Renee and her tumor, they would have their lunch at their impressively secure little love nest at the edge of town. Other times they would impose upon one of the various establishments throughout town - new or familiar. When the weather was agreeable, he'd occasionally let them drag him to the park or the arboretum nearby for a picnic. He preferred not to think of the noises his bratty cousin would make if he knew that _he, Andrew fucking Minyard_ allowed himself to be dragged to a picnic. Luckily, Nicky was in Germany, Renee wasn't about to rat him out, and Reynolds didn't know the man. 

Today they were meeting at a familiar restaurant that had an outdoor seating area - which was where he found Renee and her little entourage waiting for him. He saw them before they saw him and he took the opportunity to observe as he slowed his approach. As always, his attention first locked onto Renee - it was reflex, at this point, to always do a quick check on those he considered to be his. His attention didn't linger long - just enough to note that she was smiling like she always fucking was, all peaceful and open and calm like there was nothing in the damn world that could ruin her day. Renee impressed him by how gentle she seemed when he knew for a fact that they shared a certain kind of darkness. 

There was a reason she was the only person he tolerated past base obligation. 

He skipped Reynolds completely and next focused on the third person sitting at the table. The man was not what Andrew had been expecting, which in and of itself was interesting because he hadn't honestly been expecting anything specific. He'd assumed that whoever Renee's friend was it would be one of her do-gooder Jesus friends or something, but the man sitting beside Renee did not have the look of your average bible thumper. Oh no, not with the way his eyes scanned the dining patio every few moments and his hand hovered over his silverware like he was anticipating needing to improvise a weapon. Even from his current distance, he could see the tension in the man's thin shoulders like he was poised to run despite being seated. He also couldn't help but notice that the seat the man sat in was the one Andrew himself would have chosen - as it gave him the best view of his surroundings. He'd even changed the angle of his chair to be able to avoid having too many people directly at his back. It was a subtle enough position that most people really wouldn't have noticed it or realized the intent - but Andrew did. 

_Interesting._

The rabbit's shifting gaze landed on him before he reached the table and locked on, not flitting away as it had on everyone else in his previous passes. Andrew's step slowed for just a moment as he watched the man assess him. He saw the exact moment that he was registered as a threat, and the hardening in those eyes, the tension in the man's arm as he curled his fingers around his fork, made Andrew break his usual impassivity to flash a smirk instead. 

He wasn't the only one to notice, though. Renee stopped in the middle of whatever she was saying, her own body tensing defensively in immediate reaction to her friend. Oh my, how interesting was _that_ now? He'd never seen Renee's other side show its dark little self so quickly before; apparently she was particularly in tune with her little rabbit friend's moods.  
That tension melted away instantly, however, once she followed the little rabbit's gaze and saw him. It was replaced with her smile as she raised a hand to wave him over, her body leaning slightly toward her friend as she said something quietly to him - probably letting him know that he was the friend they were meeting and that he didn't have to worry. By the wary look still lingering in the man's eyes (and now that he was closer he could see that they were gray) and the way his fork had vanished along with his hand down to his lap, he doubted those reassurances did much good. Andrew didn't bother to try and make him feel better as he dropped himself into the empty chair across from Renee.

"Oh. Joy. The monster showed up."

"Ally," Renee chided gently, then smiled at Andrew again. "Hello Andrew." She nodded to her friend in introduction. "Andrew, this is Neil. He's an old friend. Neil, this is Andrew - a newer but still very dear friend of mine and Allison's."

Reynolds snorted, looking thoroughly offended. "Do not associate me with him, baby. He's _your_ friend. I only put up with him because I love you so much."

Andrew just rolled his eyes before focusing on the rabbit. Neil. He was discontented to realize that behind the distrustful gray eyes, shaggy dark hair, and an absolute lack of anything related to a fashion sense, the man himself was downright _pretty_. That was fine. There were plenty of attractive men around. Andrew wasn't some flustered teenager; he didn't get stupid just because of a generous mouth and cheekbones sculpted to make poor repressed gay bastards like himself weep.

"Did you want something? Or do they only let you out of your cave so infrequently you forgot what another human being looks like?"

The sharp words snapped him out of his musing. The rabbit was regarding him with cold amusement, and there was a fire in those eyes of his that was piquing his interest in very unfortunate ways. "You're a mouthy one, aren't you?" he hummed out dryly before glancing away in disinterest, looking for their damn server. 

"You're a bitchy one, aren't you?" came the mocked retort a moment later in an impressive replica of his own tone.

Andrew just glared at him.

Neil snorted as Reynolds fucking _cackled_.

"Oh, Renee baby, I _like_ him! Can we keep him around a while?"

Andrew glared at her next, but the bitch just lifted her phone, typed something in, then turned it for him to see the screen. She'd opened some kind of note-taking app and on the screen it read:

NEIL || 1

ANDREW || 0

He was not amused, but he knew better than to react directly to Allison Reynolds when she already felt superior. Instead, he looked back across to Neil. He expected the other man to look smug or gloating - but either verbal sparring was that much of a reflex or he was too uncomfortable in an unfamiliar location because he'd already gone back to sulking in his chair and checking their surroundings. Huh.

"So why are you leeching off of Renee, anyway? Get kicked out of your halfway house?" He waited until those cold gray eyes snapped back to him then gave his shabby sweater and general demeanor a long look to emphasize his point. 

"Andrew," Renee reprimanded lightly. "Neil was passing through the area and since we haven't seen each other in a few years he's visiting for a while before moving on." There was something more to that, he knew there was, but he also knew that he wouldn't get anywhere if he pushed for it now. He'd just have to ask Renee when they met up to spar on Sunday. 

"Right," he said for now, letting them both know how little he believed that. 

"Right," Neil echoed back, and there was a harder bit of steel in his tone that was reflected in his eyes. Again, like when he first walked up, he saw the rabbit assessing his threat level. It was always good to be appreciated. 

"Right..." Reynolds drew out her own chorus and painted it with sarcasm to let them all know how unamused, confused, or bored she was. He didn't know nor did he care which it actually was. "Well, as entertaining as this unexpected little standoff is..." She looked briefly between them before focusing back on Neil and launching into whatever they'd been talking about before he showed up - something to do with shopping or fashion. Andrew didn't pay much attention, except to note that while the rabbit listened and responded when directly questioned, he remained mostly quiet. 

Something just didn't add up, and in the sea of things that Andrew did not like, unanswered questions were right there at the top beside surprises. This vicious little rabbit, oh yes, he was one big unanswered question and whether he liked it or not - Andrew was going to solve him. 

*****

Reynolds whisked Neil away as soon as lunch was finished, citing a need to ‘clean him up properly’ - which put a very satisfying amount of trepidation in the suspicious little rabbit’s eyes. Maybe their little outing would save Andrew some trouble and _Neil_ would scamper off on his own after an afternoon with Allison. Well, if he didn’t turn out to be some kind of serial murderer and do her in, instead. This potentiality would actually solve _two_ of his problems - because then he wouldn’t have to deal with Reynolds anymore either, though he’d probably have to put up with a sad Renee. 

As amusing as this particular line of thinking was, Andrew shelved it for the time being as he and Renee walked the short distance to their usual dessert place after parting ways with the other half of their awkward-to-disaster lunch date. 

“Story time, Renee. What’s this about?” he asked once they’d settled down with their respective treats. Renee had gone classic with a strawberry milkshake and Andrew had strategically constructed a flavor profile of seven different toppings to bridge together the unique attributes and benefits of his own triple-scoop sprinkle-dipped waffle-bowl trifecta of lemon blackberry, mint chocolate chip, and peanut butter chocolate chip cookie dough ice creams. He’d specifically instructed the mint chip to be placed in the center - it was a palate cleanser and balanced the tart and rich flavors to each side.

“Hm? What’s what about, Andrew?” she asked innocently, as if she didn’t perfectly well know what he was asking about. Renee was a terrible liar, but she was also impressively stubborn, and she just smiled around her straw, sipping away at her milkshake as Andrew stared at her across the table. They waited for each other to break, a familiar game that Andrew won about as often as he lost. 

Today he was impatient and after gathering a mix of chopped walnuts, m&ms, and cherry sauce on a spoonful of lemon blackberry ice cream, he admitted defeat with a scowl. 

“Your rabbit friend,” he enunciated with a pointed jab of his cleaned spoon. It was a good combination and he did it again before continuing. “Neil. Why is he here? What does he want? Most importantly, what kind of trouble is he going to be dragging into our business?”

“Neil has no intention of causing trouble, Andrew.” Yes, he definitely caught the phrasing there, no matter how casually she glided over it. “Like I said, he’s just passing through.”

Andrew took an exaggerated bite of ice cream and fixed her with a stare so she could suffer his skepticism for a long moment before he highlighted his disbelief with a scoff. “Right. He was casing the restaurant when I came up. You and I both know runners when we see them, and he’s _running_ from something. I want to know if it's going to be a problem.” 

Maybe six months wasn’t enough to combat a lifetime of hovering at the edge of violence, and he was just being paranoid - but Andrew had learned to protect his own by being able to spot trouble and Neil looked like fucking _trouble_. He knew that Renee could take care of herself, but she had a glaring weakness in her compassion and she’d let this piece of trouble into her house. 

“His story isn’t mine to tell, Andrew,” Renee said lightly, neatly avoiding the answer and so answering it all the same. Whatever was chasing Neil, Renee wasn’t willing to say it wasn’t dangerous, which meant it _was_ dangerous and she’d just put herself right in that path. Well, they’d have to just see about that now, wouldn’t they?

“Tell me yours then. How do you know him? And don’t give me some non-answer like ‘we were old friends’ or some shit.” Andrew took another bite of his ice cream (peanut butter chocolate chip cookie dough with sprinkles, whipped cream, and nerds) and waited. 

Renee sipped at her milkshake and hummed, apparently sorting through what to tell him and what not to. It wasn’t like Andrew was completely unaware of her own history. She’d told him about Natalie years ago, shortly after they’d first met. He’d been living in the city at the time and he’d begrudgingly allowed her to save his life. He still hadn’t quite forgiven her for it, particularly the two-week stay in her mysteriously domestic fortress that had only given him more questions than answers. For all that Renee was usually open with him, there was plenty that she’d always kept back and skirted around - almost like it was more for his safety than for any other reason most people would want to keep things private (like it being no one else’s fucking business). He hadn’t pushed on anything she hadn’t wanted to tell him, and she had afforded him the same respect as he gradually opened up to her about his own experiences over the past few years. 

“You could say that we grew up together,” she finally said. “He knew me as Natalie, and he was… like a little brother to me. We protected each other when we could, until we couldn’t anymore. Our paths diverged until about five or six years ago, and we reconnected. You could say that Neil is the reason I’m able to have my house and my job and my quiet life.”

“Renee, your life is only as quiet as you want it to be,” he grumbled - to which she flashed him a smirk around her straw. They both knew that Renee Walker’s “quiet life” was only one fascet of many and it wasn’t even the main one. Case in point: the incident in which she and Andrew had met, and the following weeks, and their friendship afterwards.

He sighed. “Okay, so what - you owe the guy something? He helped you out?”

“I owe Neil everything, but that isn’t why he’s here. We’re friends, and that means something to both of us.” She was being cryptic again, he could _feel_ it, even if that did sound like her regular kumbaya sort of line. 

“It means he’s allowed to drag a threat to your doorstep?” He snorted. “Some friend.”

Renee shook her head. “Give him a chance, Andrew. Neil is a good man, he deserves that much.” 

Andrew scoffed. They’d see about that. Andrew didn’t believe in ‘good men’. He didn’t believe in people being inherently anything other than greedy. People _wanted_ things. It was their fatal flaw. What defined them was what they wanted and the lengths they would go to get it. Maybe Neil had helped Renee, but maybe he’d had his own reasons. Just because he’d helped her once and they had some sort of a history didn’t mean shit if he was now going to put her in harm’s as a means to get something else that he wanted. 

“Hmm…” Renee was smiling at him as she continued to sip her way through her strawberry milkshake, but Andrew ignored her in favor of turning his mind toward the conundrum of the potentially dangerous stray his friend had allowed into her home, and how exactly he was going to ferret out all of his truths.


End file.
